


not to disappear

by 152glasslippers



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 1x06, Based on a Tumblr Post, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Remix, F/M, Sharing a Bed, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 15:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/152glasslippers/pseuds/152glasslippers
Summary: The lock on the door clacked into place, and her breath caught in her throat mid-sob. There was a soft rustling, and she strained her ears to hear only that, not the labored, panting screeching of thatthing.Real, soft footsteps padded lightly across the bathroom tile and then—The metallic slide of rings on the shower rod behind her. She turned away from the water as the curtain pulled back a few inches and Jonathan stepped in, sliding the curtain back into place.Jonathan joins Nancy in the shower the night he pulls her out of the upside down.





	not to disappear

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of Stranger Things 3 tomorrow (raise your hand if you're NOT READY) I dusted off an old Jancy fic I wrote three years ago but never published for some reason.
> 
> Inspired entirely by this iconic [post](https://100c-b.tumblr.com/post/148917486180/imagine).

She stared into the mirror, her eyes wide. Watched her expressionless face as she removed each piece of clothing, tugged the tie out of her hair. Matted strands fell on her bare shoulders. Images from earlier that night pressed at the backs of her eyes, pulsing in time with her heartbeat, urging her to blink.

She tore her gaze from the mirror, ripped the shower curtain open. The faucet squeaked as she turned it.

Branches snapped, bones cracked in the back of her mind.

She turned the faucet harder, pulled the shower tap. The pipes groaned throughout the house, from the basement below her to the wall next to her. The sound gave way to the hiss of the water spray, and she stepped in quickly, barely registering the temperature against her skin, staring now at the tile in front of her.

She blinked.

The monster turned toward her, its mouth flying open.

Nancy opened her eyes again. Water trickled from her scalp to the ends of her hair, dripping down her back, and she felt the tree behind her again, rotted, sodden, leaching decay. She wrapped her arms around herself, tried closing her eyes again. Specks of dust or ash or dirt or flesh floated around her, the maze of trees swirled around her, the—

—the doorknob clicked over the sound of the water. She held her breath.

Silence. A soft thump as the door reconnected with the frame. Another click as the doorknob twisted back into place.

“Nancy?” Jonathan’s voice, careful but urgent. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine, just…” She swallowed. She didn’t know what to say, beyond the obvious lie. “Just, umm…” She gave up trying to find the words. “Are you okay? I thought you were going to wait in my room.”

“Yeah, I just came to check on you. I was worried…” He trailed off, hesitated. “You came in here an hour ago.”

_What?_

Nancy looked down at her arms, covered in goosebumps, the pads of her fingers wrinkled. She’d lost track of time, in front of the mirror or in the shower, she didn’t know.

She started to breathe harder.

What if she eventually lost all concept of time? Until her life existed only as flashes between dark memories, trapping her on the other side of that tree, cold and echoing, forever?

She choked on a gasp, and then she was crying, pursing her lips together, trying to keep it quiet from the whole house, from Jonathan. Her face crumpled, and she struggled to keep her eyes open, desperate not to close them and find herself screaming in that place.

She could sense Jonathan on the other side of the curtain, hands in his pockets probably, silent, unsure. She thought of his hand gripping her, his body bearing the weight of hers. Thought of his arms, tight around her. His hands again, pressing into her back, pressing her to him. She could still feel it. Wanted to feel it again. Didn’t know how to ask.

The lock on the door clacked into place, and her breath caught in her throat mid-sob. There was a soft rustling, and she strained her ears to hear only that, not the labored, panting screeching of that _thing_.

Real, soft footsteps padded lightly across the bathroom tile and then—

The metallic slide of rings on the shower rod behind her. She turned away from the water as the curtain pulled back a few inches and Jonathan stepped in, sliding the curtain back into place.

He was resolutely looking her in the eye, his gaze focused, intense, gentle. She stared back at him, surprise drying up her tears. He waited before taking a step closer, gasped as the water hit his body. He jerked himself backward out of the spray then threw himself forward again.

“Nancy, it’s cold!” She couldn’t tell if he was telling her or asking her, shock distorting his voice away from statement or question.

Nancy brought her arms up to her chest, loose fists resting inches below her chin, and moved to the side to make room for him as he reached to adjust the temperature. She found herself looking at his shoulders, the top of his chest in her direct line of sight. The water beaded on his neck, the ridge of his collarbone, rolled down the pale plane of his torso. The temperature warmed slowly, then seemed to turn in an instant, hot but not scalding.

Jonathan took a step back, giving her space. She stayed where she was, her back to the shower wall, her body angled slightly away from him now. She looked at him, at him looking so intently at her. His voice still rang in her ears.

_Nancy! Nancy, where are you? I’m right here! Follow my voice. Nancy, I’m right here!_

The longer she stood there, the more overwhelming it was how quickly her life had changed—without warning—by everything she’d seen and felt and heard. By Jonathan, that she was experiencing all of this with him, that she’d sought him out in the first place, implicitly trusting him without realizing it until long after the fact, until she was telling him her worst, most cynical thoughts and he was pulling her from another world. By this moment, when he was standing in front of her, naked, vulnerable, selfless.

Looking at him was too much, standing there was too much, just considering going to sleep, closing her eyes for longer than a second, waking up to another day without Barb, was too much.

She looked away, to the clear shower curtain clinging to the wall of the tub. She could just hear the pattering of water on plastic over the sound of their breathing. Her thoughts went unfocused. The pressure built back up in her lungs, in her throat, behind her eyes.

She covered her face in her hands. Whether to protect herself or Jonathan, she couldn’t say.

She heard him take a deep breath; in, out. The sound of the water hitting his skin changed as he inched forward, lay one hand on her arm. Waited. For permission to touch her, to be this close. To get closer.

And at the touch of his hand, something in her let go.

She turned, reaching for him, his hand sliding up her shoulder as she closed her arms around him, her palms flat against his back, her body against his, no trace of shyness, no thought to their nakedness. It was all comfort, the feel of his body against hers. No friction.

She dropped her head, her nose and lips brushing his collarbone. He pulled her closer with his other arm—always pulling her closer, reeling her in—as the hand on her shoulder moved to the crown of her head, stroking her hair.

His hand at the small of her back burned hotter than the water.

Jonathan didn’t shush her, held her firmly in silence. After the woods, his body was more real to her than his voice. He was still except for the hand stroking her hair and his grip on her back, a strong pressure digging into her skin, relaxing slowly, then tightening again. She wasn’t sure which one of them he was trying to reassure.

She lost track of time again, a calm lull instead of a blind panic, until she was no longer crying, just breathing. Lost to the sensation of Jonathan’s body, his hands. The heat and moisture of her breath on his skin.

Gradually, the rest of her senses came back to her. She rested her cheek on his shoulder. The temperature of the water cooled. She lifted her head and pulled back an inch to look at him. He met her gaze with the smallest hint of a smile on his face. She looked at his half-wet hair, and he raised his eyes, too, as if he could see it. He stepped forward, moving her with him, until he was completely under the spray. He gasped again at the temperature, and she laughed, a small, breathy sound. He smiled back, letting her go just enough to bend at the waist and turn the water off. She let her eyes trace the long lines of his body, graceful in a way she recognized was always under the surface, hidden only by his usual awkward demeanor.

He straightened and caught her looking. He blushed. Dropped his eyes to his feet.

Nancy kept her eyes trained on his until he looked back up at her again. This time, she was the one smiling.

She moved past him to open the shower curtain and stepped out, intentionally giving him the same opportunity to look. She tiptoed with dripping feet to the wooden cabinet next to the bathroom door. Grabbed two towels and tried to connect the feeling of her wet feet on the tile to the slide of Jonathan’s skin against hers, instead of the slick of dead leaves under her sneakers.

When she turned around, Jonathan had climbed out of the shower and closed the curtain and was waiting for her to hand him a towel, his hands hanging too casually at his sides. She tossed his towel at him—he caught it, surprised—and buried her face in her own before using it to squeeze out the ends of her hair. Jonathan rubbed his towel over his head. She regarded him in short glances, shy in her looking now, less so in the unhurried way she dried off.

For a minute, everything felt different than it actually was.

She tucked her towel around herself as Jonathan wrapped his around his waist.

“I’ll meet you in my room,” she whispered.

He nodded, the intense gaze back. She flipped the lock on the door and peered into the hall before opening the door wider and nodding to Jonathan. He followed her out and slipped into her room. She stopped at the linen closet in the hall where her parents kept extra winter clothing, pulled out a pair of her dad’s old flannel pajama pants, and made her way down the hallway, bracing herself against the darkness with the light spilling out from behind her bedroom door.

Jonathan was in his boxer shorts and T-shirt, sitting on her bed, facing the window, surrounded by the yellow glow of her lamp. He looked up as she crossed the threshold, closing the door behind her. She held out the pants. He took them wordlessly. She went to her dresser, heard the creak of her bed as he stood up. She peeked over her shoulder. He was standing facing the corner now. The flannel pants bunched at his ankles.

Nancy pulled on her pajamas, hung up their towels. Walked over to him, touched his shoulder. He whipped around, wide-eyed.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

He swallowed, nodding at her apology, then pointed to where her sleeping bag sat rolled up at the foot of her bed.

“I found it in the closet, if you want me to…”

“Yeah, no, I don’t… want to be alone.”

She walked around to her side of the bed, watched him start to roll out the sleeping bag.

“Actually, wait.”

He looked up sharply, concern, maybe even hurt, in his eyes.

“Would you mind…” She took a breath. “Could you just…sleep in the bed? With me?”

Jonathan was frozen in place, staring at her.

“I mean, it’s okay if you don’t—I know it’s a lot to ask, especially after the…” She gestured vaguely at the door. “The shower,” she finished in a small voice.

“I don’t mind.”

His voice was quiet, but sure.

She nodded and climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up under her arms.

“You want the lights off or…?”

“On.”

He nodded solemnly and lay down gingerly next to her, both of them staring at the ceiling. He turned on his side to face her, and she could feel him watching her. She wondered at it, how it was only ever reassuring, never uncomfortable. She turned on her side to look at him.

“Thank you, for before. For…” _Holding me. Saving me. Twice._ “…coming to check on me.”

“It was nothing.”

She tried to figure out from his expression whether it was false modesty, or embarrassment, or truly a belief that it was insignificant that made him say it, but she couldn’t.

She reached for the hand cradled next to his face. Slipped her hand into it, that tight grip. She shook her head.

“It was everything.”

Exhaustion took over slowly, and it was that hand, those eyes, that held her in place as she drifted into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
